A Reichenback Journal by John H Watson
by KatTheCatInTheHat
Summary: John's lost Sherlock and his therapist recommends that he writes a journal.


**Title: **A Reichenbach Journal by John H. Watson

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBC's universe of Sherlock.

**Characters: **John Watson (journalist in this case), Sherlock Holmes, mentions of unnamed therapist, Molly Hooper, Harry Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Mary Morstan, DI Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Sally Donovan, Anderson, Sarah

**Genre: **Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor, Fluff, Journal

**Warnings: **Language, Angst

**Spoilers: **The Reichenbach Fall ending, beginning of Arthur Conan Doyle's 'The Adventure of the Empty House"

**Summary: **John's lost his Sherlock and his therapist recommends that he writes a journal.

**Author's Notes: **This is my first fan fiction ever! First person always sounds kinda juvenile anyways… New author + first person = bad fanfic I know.

_**A Reichenbach Journal by John H. Watson**_

_**January 17**__**th**__**, 2012 **_

So my therapist recommended I write more in my blog, but some things just aren't meant to be read by the public or anyone at all really, so I'm writing my thoughts down in a journal.

Well, here it goes. Sherlock, I write this to you, seeing as it is your fault I have to do this stupid thing anyways…

I refuse to believe it. No matter what anybody says to try to convince me that everything you told me was a lie, I won't believe it. Sherlock, you were the greatest, most human person I have ever known and there is no way that you could ever be a fraud. Of all of the genii in the world, you were the greatest. Einstein would lose in a battle of the minds with you. In fact, you've beat a few genii at some point or another I'm sure…

You told me once that you weren't a hero, but doing what you did shows that you are—to me at least. I know that you would never become suicidal for reasons of self-loathing; living with you for over a year has taught me that much at least. So, I've come to the conclusion that you jumped for an entirely different reason. I don't even want to think of why, that is your area of expertise. I was just your companion, the one who stopped you if you went too far and pushed you when you needed a push. There is no way that I will ever be able to understand why you jumped from the building, unless you tell me. However, seeing as I'm writing this to remember you and deal with my emotions after your death I doubt it will ever happen…

You really were the closest thing I had to family other then Harry, and she is my sister so she doesn't count. Sherlock, my unofficial brother, why did you leave?

I haven't got anything else to say, other than that I will miss you (from your company to your obnoxious comments and vaguely sociopathic nature) so, so much and you helped me when I needed someone to keep me going. You put me on the right track and I will never, ever forget you.

Thank you, Sherlock, for being my friend and partner.

I believe in Sherlock Holmes.

_**January 18**__**th**__**, 2012**_

I went down to your grave again; I had something else to say… I couldn't say it, people were there.

Sod this; I don't even know what to write about anymore… How about I write even more sentimental things that you wouldn't appreciate! I give up. I don't care if my therapist thinks that I need to release my emotions somehow, maybe I'll go down to the bar and drink my emotions away like a normal mourner would.

I haven't even gone back to the flat yet, 221B Baker Street will remind me too much of the good times with you. The friend I'm staying with just stays out of my way, I don't think that you ever knew her, a woman named Mary? No? Okay, well, anyways, she was a college friend and right now the only one of my acquaintances who doesn't know you and therefore can't judge you.

Maybe a trip to the bar is a bad idea… A big cup of tea at Mary's it is then.

Laterz…

_**February 8**__**th**__**, 2012**_

Sorry I haven't written to you for a while, I've been busy. I went back to the practice to take my mind off of you know… You.

Ah hem, so, I've come back to ask you something... You remember how I stayed with Mary for a while? Well, I moved back to Baker Street, I missed the flat too much and Mrs. Hudson is getting old. Anyhow, I've been meaning to ask Mary out on a date. You know, where two people who like each other go out for dinner? However, I had to ask you first; I just felt too guilty to ask her without some sort of blessing, which you can't actually bestow but I visited your grave again and I think you said yes (I may have been dreaming). Good god, I think I'm turning into you, having conversations with people who aren't even there.

Any who, I'm going over to her house just now to ask her. Wish me luck!

Mary said yes! Actually, she looked surprised when I asked her. I suppose she didn't think I was ready yet, but I am. (Or maybe, like everyone else in the world, she thinks I'm gay. For the love of god, I'm not!) So tomorrow night is our first fancy dinner together and I'm taking her to that Chinese place we went to way back when we first met.

Again, wish me luck…

_**February 10**__**th**__**, 2012**_

The date went really well. Mary and I get along nicely. I can just hear your voice in the background going, "Were her pupils dilated? Did you check her pulse?" To answer your question, yes, her pupils were dilated and no, I did not check her pulse as I thought that might seem a bit forward.

I believe there will be future dates! Also, she doesn't have a dog, which I WILL remember this time… Remind me will you?

Talk to you later, Sherlock.

_**January 9**__**th**__**, 2013**_

I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you in a while, I've been… Preoccupied. I did visit your grave a few times though. I miss your long winded rants to show off your genius but I've had some company. Mary Morstan is an amazing woman and we've been together for almost a year now. I really hope you're not upset.

I think you would approve of her; she is beautiful, brave, smart, and so much more. I believe that she could hold out against you for a short while, and stay human as she does.

Mary Morstan… She is almost enough to make me forget that you were ever a major part of my life. Of course, that will never happen. Seventeen months is a long time to erase from my mind, and it was the more ridiculous year or so of my entire life.

I'm lamenting… Sorry. Maybe it is time to tell you the real reason why I'm back here talking to you. Let me just have a tea break.

I'm going to propose to her Sherlock. I want Mary to be my wife.

Once again, I feel the need to ask your permission. I don't know why and I haven't told anyone that I still talk to you this way; then again it has been a while… I find that when I'm not around her I become depressed and I think about you more. It isn't that Mary is your substitute; nothing like that. She just isn't the same as a good old friend to have adventures with.

Now I sound like Winnie-the-Pooh.

_**January 11**__**th**__**, 2013**_

You will be happy to hear that Mary declined my hand in marriage. I don't know what went wrong; I chose the perfect restaurant, the Thai one that we went to once with the fancy decorations and amazing food. The ring was perfect too, if a bit simple, and I did everything right!

Once again Sherlock, you ruined a relationship and you weren't even there to do it. I got down on one knee and asked but Mary's face was apologetic as she said "no" in what must have been her kindest voice possible. I asked her why and her explanation went something along the lines of;

"I could never marry you John, no matter how much I loved you because you wouldn't love me back with the utter devotion that would be expected of you. Do you want to know why? Sherlock. I can't marry you because everything you do has something to do with your friend Sherlock Holmes; every date you've ever taken me on has been somewhere that Sherlock introduced you to, and every date you talk about him. I'm sorry, John, but no one will ever compete with the Sherlock that you remember."

You really are a git you know that? I was happy with her Sherlock… I think.

_**January 15**__**th**__**, 2013**_

One year, that is how long it has been since we spoke. One year is how long it has been since I enjoyed your company anywhere other than my thoughts. I visited your grave earlier today, sorry, I didn't bring flowers. I thought that you might enjoy something a little more you. I brought your riding crop… Mrs. Hudson says that it isn't decent to joke about your death but I didn't, I know that it really is something that you will appreciate more than the ever dying flowers that are traditional to bring to the grave of a deceased.

I cried though; more than I thought I would and I admit that I yelled obscenities at your shiny black gravestone. Again, sorry. Since you abandoned me to a boring life of solitude nothing, much has happened other then what I have already told you. I mean, sure, Lestrade divorced his wife (and then got back together with her… Even though I'm fairly sure that she is still having an affair with the PE teacher). He asked for my advice on a couple of cases and I was able to help out on some of them, although I'm sure that if you were there you would tell me everything that I'd missed, and call me incompetent. I can't please everybody now can I…?

One last thing for today, I spoke to Lestrade, Molly, and all of the other people who had any respect for you that I stayed in touch with and asked them whether they believe that you are a fraud or not. A surprising number of people said that they believe you to be totally innocent. So, please, would you just come back now? Please? The people that matter don't actually think that you are fraudulent anymore…

Please Sherlock? For me…

_**March 21**__**st**__**, 2013**_

So, obviously you didn't hear my plea a couple of months back… I still miss you, you know… Life goes on however and I have been keeping myself occupied. The Practice is doing really well and I'm saving up quite a large sum of money seeing as I don't do much other then work, read, write, and visit some friends. Mary and I are still in touch and I like to believe that we are more than friends, although maybe a friend with benefits is a more accurate description of our relationship…

I didn't speak to you before as nothing was worth talking about, until now, your 'suicide' (such a harsh word) was fully investigated by none other than DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, and the rest of the team (Anderson included, yes, he still has the job). The investigation took a mere two days and you were found to be completely innocent of any crimes, and you are back to the status of 'sociopathic genius' for the world, a story about your innocence was published in the paper and you now seem to be some sort of martyr. Yes, Sherlock dear, you would hate it.

What, might you ask, would bring up this sudden investigation? The reporter who wrote that story about your fraudulence gave up her story, and where she got the information and has been reduced to nothing more than an ex-reporter now. Finally, somebody receives punishment for their crimes (mainly murdering your reputation and supposedly causing you to become depressed).

I still believe, no, I KNOW that there was a good reason for your decision and I stick by that, I always will. You can count on me old friend.

_**November 3**__**rd**__**, 2013**_

It has taken me a while, but I've finally realized it. Somebody has been spying on me and relaying information to someone important. I have reason to believe that your apathetic older brother has been spying on me since your untimely death. Now, why would he do that? I've narrowed it down to about three reasons, number one, he feels responsible for your death and therefore my life. Reason number two, you knew you were going to your death in advance and contacted Mycroft ordering him to watch out for me. Reason number three, you're alive and you don't want anyone to know it yet you still want to watch out for me and make Mycroft's henchmen do it (I find this highly unlikely considering I saw you and there is no way that you could be watching out for me now). Of course, there is always a fourth option, that being that someone wants me dead or something along those lines.

For my sake, let us hope it isn't the last option.

_**January 16**__**th**__**, 2014**_

The second anniversary of your death was yesterday and I took it harder than the last one… I may or may not have gotten drunk before going to your grave and I may or may not have smashed a beer bottle over your grave in anger.

I was upset when I woke up. It was one of those things where I got up and was fine, than I looked at my watch, realized the date, and had a moment of shocked silence before falling quickly into a deep depression that no amount of calming conversation from Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Sarah or Mary could fix. By about four I was ready to break something and decided to go for a walk to calm my mind, which I did. However, on the walk I saw the face of someone who looked exactly like you for just a moment before the face disappeared. My first hallucination I've ever had that has not been drug induced (Baskerville anyone?)… After that painful experience I headed to the pub and drank away my sorrows before apparently grabbing a beer, calling a taxi, and heading to the cemetery. Sarah was following me around to make sure I didn't do anything stupid and according to her I went up to your grave and ranted, cussing the entire way, before tossing the half empty bottle of beer at your name on the grave. I didn't miss, which is surprising.

I don't remember anything after getting to the bar and having a few drinks. Luckily Sarah told me everything so I wasn't surprised when I woke up this morning with the worst hangover I have ever had and a deep feeling of shame.

Sorry for disrespecting your grave, by the way. I promise to go down and apologize properly later on today, when I've had more pain medication and coffee. I've got to go before dinner as Mrs. Hudson has invited Lestrade, Molly, Sarah, Mary and Mycroft over for an evening at Baker Street. She thinks that we need to have a dinner to toast to you and since I was unavailable yesterday it had to be today…

I think I'm ready to head down to the cemetery now. This time I'm bringing flowers.

_**July 9**__**th**__**, 2014**_

Mrs. Hudson thinks I need a weekend away from the flat and work… As she puts it, "You've got lines on your face that weren't there yesterday and you need a vacation." I don't want one, vacations tend to equal too much thinking, and thinking is what I don't need. However, when Mrs. Hudson wants something for her 'children' there is no way to avoid it without feeling awful; so I will do what she says.

Mycroft has a cabin down in the Swiss Alps that Mrs. Hudson thinks I should go too, maybe that would be nice and relaxing. Although I will think more than ever about work, worries, and you.

Mycroft intervened with my holiday plans, I knew he would do something along those lines someday but I was thinking it would be more towards if I was doing something wrong, not something that even he has to admit would be good for me. However, apparently the cabin in the Swiss Alps is under construction because of some problem or another with the foundations. I don't believe him; Mycroft hiding something that he doesn't want me specifically to know about. I haven't the foggiest what it might be; if you were here you would be able to figure it out in no time.

On the second hand, maybe you would be stumped—it _is _your brother we're talking about, Sherlock, and according to you he is more brilliant and cold then you ever were; the most dangerous man I'd ever meet. I suppose your opinion changed when we met Moriarty but now that the devil is dead Mycroft is back to being the most dangerous man on earth…. What an odd thought.

Anyhow, since my vacation to the Swiss Alps has been canceled Mrs. Hudson is sending me off to a nice hotel in the French Alps. I insisted on paying for the trip no matter what she said and she relented eventually saying that at least she had gotten me to go at all. I've already planned out my trip; a bit of relaxing in the hot springs, buffets for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and a whole lot of time spent on one of the terraces that overlook a beautiful valley with a book or two in hand. You would find it incredibly boring, I'm sure, so I will leave you behind.

_**July 11**__**th**__**, 2014**_

Well, I'm off in a couple of hours to the train that will take me to my destination. I will be gone about a week so I've come to say good bye. I'm going to have a nice, relaxing vacation. Oh, who am I kidding, I'm going to miss the hectic life of no free time that I'm used to. I hope the shake in my left hand doesn't come back as it has been known to do on days where nothing is going on.

Bye!

_**July 19**__**th**__**, 2014**_

Someone has been inside my bedroom messing with my papers while I was gone. I had a relaxing, if uneventful time in France; however, coming back to find my desk in my bedroom tampered with has ruined the mood. Things have been moved, I know they have. This journal has been read, I know it. Somebody has been inside my bedroom and riffled through my stuff. It seems they left in a hurry though as something that looks a bit like a bit of a fake beard has been left behind by the window.

I think it is safe to say that someone has an interest in my doings… Ah well, what is life without a little bit of action after all?

_**December 25**__**th**__**, 2014**_

Happy Christmas!

Since the incident with my desk a while back nothing strange has happened, until today. A package arrived in the mail addressed to me. Inside was a box of cufflinks, I don't even wear cufflinks, and there was no name or return address. I think that the same somebody who tampered with the papers on my desk sent me a Christmas gift…. How strange.

Again, Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year.

_**January 10**__**th**__**, 2015**_

Sherlock, you bastard, you selfish, self-righteous bastard! THREE YEARS. IT has been almost exactly three years since you were buried. I SAW your body.

Apparently, I was wrong all these years. You're not dead, never were. In fact, you explained it all to me.

Just yesterday I got home from work to see that Mrs. Hudson was out, but that the door to our flat was open. Fearing that the flat was being burgled I drew my revolver (which I kept on me at all times since someone had messed with my desk) and crept through the door. I looked in and saw you, Sherlock Holmes in the flesh, alive, sitting in your chair. I dropped my gun and the next thing I knew I was sitting down in my chair blinking black spots out of my eyes. Thinking that I had just had a seizure or something along those lines I looked up, only to see your grey eyes looking down on me with something akin to _concern_ in them. "You. Were. Dead." I managed to choke out before standing on shaky legs and wiping a stray tear from my cheek before you would see.

"Yes, well, I can explain." You said, and that was all it took to get me to pull back my fist and pull a perfect punch to your jaw. I immediately felt both ashamed and proud to have done so and I stood there, awkwardly watching as your eyes narrowed in what might have turned into anger had you not seen the tears in my eyes.

"Sentiment?" You asked awkwardly.

I nodded before pulling you into a rough, awkward hug that you allowed for about three seconds before pulling away and sniffing. After a bit more silence, we both sat down.

As you had done years before in the cab before our first case together you muttered, "Okay, you have questions." I nodded in affirmation and you began to tell your story.

The great Sherlock Holmes had planned it all out in advance with Molly of all people. You had asked for her help and she had done so, the two of you had made it seem that you had died jumping off of the building when really you'd had a safe, if painful landing in the dump truck that had been placed there moments before the jump. Then you had somebody knock me down hard enough that I would be dazed for a moment or two, giving you enough time to have Molly dump fake blood on your face and the sidewalk. Through some sort of trick you stopped or slowed down your pulse, which you knew I would check, and faked your death. Apparently you are able to hold your breath for a very long time as well… Afterwards, Molly 'confirmed' that the dead man was Sherlock Holmes, when really she was helping you to escape. Mycroft also knew about the plan and with his financial help you got a ticket out of England where you were sent off to live in the very same cabin in Switzerland that I had not been allowed to go to. It was also apparently one of the people from your homeless network that rifled through my desk at your orders and also you who sent me the cufflinks. I don't use them but thank you anyways.

A bit more explaining and finally you revealed that after your 'death' you used the three years to track down and capture, kill or incapacitate Moriarty's most illustrious and dangerous clients. Sounds like you had more fun than I did.

It is great to have you back where you belong, Sherlock, I missed you tones. However, I don't regret chinning you in the slightest and I will fully have my vengeance one day, when you don't expect it.

I still CANNOT believe that you are alive after all of these years… How am I going to tell Mrs. Hudson? She is sure to have a heart attack! Oh, I hear her on the stairs now… I've got to go; she is back from dinner with a friend.

_**January 15**__**th**__**, 2011**_

_Hello John, Sherlock here. I've read your journal. Your writing has gotten absolutely atrocious over the years; you really must fix it. I didn't understand half of what you did in my absence, I assume some form of sentiment was being expressed when you smashed an alcoholic beverage on my gravestone. When I came across one of the lines in your tribute to me about me being a hero, I had to disagree. I'm still not a hero; you should have learned that by now. I doubt a hero would leave his best friend to his depression as I did._

_I would like to point something out to you, when you get highly emotional or surprised you faint. I suggest you get over that weakness; it isn't good to collapse into the arms of a dead friend like you did. Another point, don't punch long dead friends in their face. It doesn't fit well with the tears that also showed themselves when you regained consciousness. It wasn't decent._

_And John, I missed you too._

_Can we burn this journal now? I have a few experiments that I need to catch up on in which I need to burn paper._


End file.
